Mortal Treachery
by Belvedere
Summary: AU. When temptation of valor grows too strong for Aragorn to resist, he betrays the Fellowship, leaving everything behind. Yet he is not forsaken by Legolas, who must redempt his friend before the situation becomes fatal.
1. Fire and Ice

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Author's Notes: Nope, I don't own anything. The story is completely AU and starts out movie-verse (solely due to the fact that I'm too lazy to look everything up in the books). Please submit a review. I'm open to plot suggestions and criticism. 

Thank you for taking the time to check out my work. Without further ado, I present...

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Mortal Treachery

Chapter One

Fire and Ice

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"Fly, you fools!" Gandalf's sharp hiss pierced the heavy silence. His piercing eyes were still locked on the remaining Companions. Eight horrified pairs of eyes watched as one by one, the Grey Wizard's fingers let go of the rock façade that he clung onto.

In a blink of an eye, Gandalf disappeared off the edge of the bridge, his body plunging into darkness.

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"NOOOOOOOOO!" Frodo cried, his voice unusually powerful for such a small body. The hobbit lunged forward. Impulsively, Boromir reached out and grabbed him around the waist before he could follow Gandalf into the fire.

"Gandalf!" Frodo's wrenching cries echoed off the Moria cave walls, growing dimmer and dimmer as he was carried out, followed by the three other hobbits, Gimli and Legolas.

Aragorn was not aware that he was the only person left. He was still physically rooted to the ground; his metallic eyes fixed on the spot where Gandalf had been hanging onto just a few seconds ago...

For the Ranger, time ceased to exist altogether. His thoughts were lost, his body frozen, his mind a whirlpool of confused feelings. As if in a trance, he could not think, speak or move. 

A full minute passed...then another...

"Aragorn!" Boromir's distant shout snapped him back to reality. His mind still blank, he instinctively turned and ran, ducking as darting arrows shot by dangerously close over his head. 

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He's gone...Gandalf is gone...

Aragorn bit his lip hard, forcing himself to concentrate on sprinting up the stairs that would lead him out of Moria's gloom. He tongue tasted the copper tang of blood.

When he stepped outside, Aragorn had to allow his eyes to adjust to the light. He had not seen the sun in four days, and the harsh brightness stung his sensitive vision. Ignoring the tightness in his throat, he quickly scanned the area. They had crossed the Cahadras chain and were situated at the base of an enormous white-tipped mountain. Lorien was to the East. Checking the terrain they would cross, Aragorn grew slightly apprehensive. The land was flat and open. They could easily be seen from the mountains by any watchful foe. 

But worse yet was the state of his remaining companions.

Merry, Pippin and Sam were all sobbing vehemently, tears staining their scruffy faces. Gimli was on a furious rant, Boromir trying in vain to calm the Dwarf down. Far away from the group, Legolas was looking out across the rocks, a slight breeze tossing his fine blonde hair in the air. Aragorn knew that he was uttering an Elvish prayer for Gandalf.

The Ranger himself felt numb. He did not experience any sadness or anger. Not yet. He took out his sword and began to wipe the grime off the blade.

"We should get going," he announced quietly after a few minutes. Nobody moved. 

"Legolas, get them up," Aragorn said. The command came out harsher than he'd intended, but he needed to be obeyed under any circumstance, else the Fellowship would crumble like brittle leaves in autumn. He now carried the responsibility of everyone's safety, and being out in the open was not a wise place to rest. 

Legolas turned slowly, his dark blue eyes awash with grief, and walked toward Merry and Pippin.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir protested angrily, glaring up at Aragorn. 

"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with Orcs," Aragorn insisted, returning Boromir's steely gaze evenly. "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien." 

Boromir turned away, his eyes lowered. 

"Come, Boromir. Legolas. Gimli, get them up." Aragorn said firmly. They began to gather their packs.

Aragorn went over to where Sam was quietly crying and gently lifted the tear-stained hobbit. 

"On your feet, Sam," he said encouragingly. The hobbit looked up at the dark Ranger, his innocent eyes rimmed red. Aragorn could not bring himself to meet the hobbit's gaze back. 

Suddenly, he realized that he had not seen the Ringbearer since Boromir had carried him out of Moria.

"Frodo?" he called, his head suddenly hot with panic. To his relief, Frodo was in sight. The hobbit stood fifty yards away, back to the Fellowship. His slight figure looked fragile and worn. 

Aragorn grimaced. This hobbit did not belong here. He should never have left his home.

"Frodo!" Aragorn called again, hating to interrupt Frodo's lamenting. He could not even begin to imagine what the Halfling was feeling, but lingering with the enemy in their footsteps would do no good either. Frodo would have to accept Gandalf's leave, sooner or later.

Slowly, Frodo turned around. The hobbit's wide blue eyes were brimmed with tears. One slid slowly down his cheek. 

Aragorn sighed, suddenly exhausted. Traveling on broken hearts would be no easy feat for the Fellowship tonight.

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The journey from Moria to Lothlorien was, indeed, a morose one. The Fellowship walked in single file, following Aragorn. He pushed them hard. They often went for five or six hours without a break. Aragorn knew the hobbits were exhausted, but they did not complain and he decided they would get their rest in the house of Galadriel. He just wanted to reach the forest as soon as possible. Being out in the open made him increasingly uneasy every day. 

Everybody's spirits rose when they saw the vast outline of a great forest ahead one evening. 

"I do not want to sleep again under an empty sky. We can reach the forest before dusk. There we will make camp and rest," Aragorn told the group. He saw Sam sigh in relief and give an encouraging smile to Frodo.

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"I'm going to scout this area," Boromir announced after they stopped and chose a clearing for camp that night. Aragorn was almost certain there was no immediate danger - they were well nestled in the forest. But he did not protest to Boromir leaving.

"What would my ol' Gaffer give to see trees this big!" Sam said to Merry in awe as they set down their packs and admired the surrounding woods. Indeed, the great elms and oaks stretched their leafy fingers high into the night sky. 

"What's for dinner?" Gimli asked, patting his growing stomach.

"I'm afraid we haven't got much," Sam said regretfully, looking disdainfully into his pack. "Just the usual. Beans and some old strips of meat." The hobbits began to bring out and set the food on blankets. Gimli grimaced.

"You can help out, Master Dwarf," Aragorn said pointedly. "Please go and find firewood. But do not use your axe on any of these trees. There are plenty of branches on the ground."

Grumbling good-naturedly, the stout dwarf disappeared into the forest. Aragorn commenced to do the same.

"Where are _you_ headed to?" Legolas asked, seeing him. His lilting Elven voice stopped Aragorn on his tracks. He turned around. The Elf was studying him, a bemused expression on his face. 

"I was going to try to find some fresh meat," Aragorn said quietly so that only the two of them could hear. "I thought it would be a welcome surprise for the hobbits." 

A flicker of a smile settled on Legolas' lips. 

"I will come with you, then," he said.

The Man and Elf treaded through the grassy understudy of Lorien in silence. At one point, Aragorn spotted a lone stag grazing, but decided against killing such a large creature for one night of meat. Legolas noticed this. 

"Most would not have hesitated to bring down such an easy target," he remarked coolly as they rounded a bend on a dirt path.

Aragorn shrugged slightly. "Life is too precious to be wasted."

Ten minutes later, they spotted a family of grey hares nestled under a thick bush. 

The Elf and Man crouched down behind a nearby hedge. Legolas silently removed an arrow from his quiver and motioned for Aragorn to do the same. The Ranger immediately understood. As soon as one arrow was released, the rest of the quarry would flee. It would be better to shoot simultaneously and bring two down.

The plan went through smoothly. As the arrows sailed, half a dozen grey blurs disappeared in every direction. Two shapeless grey mounds remained, unmoving. Legolas went and collected them. Both hares had been hit in the hide, dying instantly. Perfect marksmanship. He pulled the blood-tipped arrows out of the soft silver fur. Returning to Aragorn, he handed the hares to the Ranger with an embarrassed smile.

"Would you prepare them? I have never felt comfortable doing it," he admitted. 

Aragorn looked up, surprised, but seeing how Legolas' eyes avoided the dead rabbits, he nodded. Though Elves were ferocious fighters and skilled hunters, they generally despised death. It was understandable, as they themselves did not suffer from it.

They found a small gurgling stream nearby. The two friends knelt side by side. As Aragorn skinned and cleaned the rabbits, Legolas filled their canteens with cool clean water and rinsed the arrowheads clean. 

"How are you faring?" the Man asked nonchalantly, skillfully using his dagger to scrape off the first hare's skin. 

"Considerably well," Legolas replied. "Under these circumstances, at least. I am much relieved to not be resting under an open sky this evening."

"As am I," Aragorn agreed. A comfortable silence settled between the two friends for a few seconds. Then Legolas spoke again.

"I have been curious, Estel. You have been acting strange. Why does your face show so little grief? Why do you not openly mourn for Mithrandir? I know you had a great friendship with him."

Aragorn paused before replying, thinking hard. But he found no answer to Legolas' question and truthfully told him.

"Yes, he was my mentor for many years. As for your other question, I honestly do not know, Legolas. I have not yet accepted his passing. My heart is stubborn. I keep thinking that he will somehow return. It is folly, I know." He shook his head and returned to his work. 

"It is never folly to hope," Legolas replied quietly. 

"We saw him fall, Legolas. There is no hope left." Aragorn closed his eyes, grief suddenly choking his throat.

"You can never be certain with a Wizard, Estel. They always have a few more surprises in store for us. I, too, believe we may see Gandalf again before the end of days," he heard the Elf say.

Aragorn said nothing, but prayed silently that Legolas was right.

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On their way back, Aragorn found a small wild boar snuffling around some wildflowers. After skewering the beast quickly, they returned to camp. Everybody's mood increased at the sight of fresh meat. Sam was especially excited. 

"Look, look what Strider and Legolas has brought back! Bless their hearts, now all these pots and pans I lugged won't go to waste. Pippin, help me start a fire, quick," Sam eagerly began to bustle around, rummaging in his pack for herbs.

Aragorn took the time to sit down and rest his weary body. Leaning against a mossy tree trunk, he closed his eyes and inhaled the cool fresh air, savoring the moment. 

"You must feel right at home in this forest," Frodo's voice said quietly. Aragorn opened his eyes. The hobbit had moved next to him and was looking up at him with an expression of admiration in his dazzlingly blue eyes. 

"Yes, I suppose I do," Aragorn answered. Frodo thought hard, his brow furrowed. 

"But don't you wish you had a real home? Under a safe roof, with friends and family whom you love? Don't you get lonely?" 

Aragorn smiled. "I do have a real home, little one. I grew up in Rivendell with Elrond."

"But you are not their kind. You are friends with Bilbo and Gandalf, but they are not humans either. Where are your mother and your father?" Frodo asked curiously. "Why do you not live with them?"

"Because I am like you, Frodo. My father was killed when I was two years of age. My mother brought me to Rivendell, yet she lived in grief ever after and passed away alone. I have no other kin." 

Frodo was silent. He thought of his Uncle Bilbo, whom he loved and adored dearly. He thought of his numerous cousins, of Merry and Pippin. He thought of Bag End and the green rolling hills of the Shire. He thought of blueberry cake and quiet nights in bed reading with Bilbo. The hobbit realized that Aragorn had none of it. 

"But there must be somebody you love!" Frodo insisted. "Have you have a lover, then?" 

Frodo saw a flicker of sorrow pass in Aragorn's eyes and immediately regretted his question. 

"Yes, but I fear she will go away to the Havens," Aragorn replied, his eyes downcast.

"She is an Elf, then," Frodo said.

"Yes. The very Elf who brought you from Weathertop to Rivendell. Lady Arwen is her name. She is a daughter of Elrond." 

"Oh!" Frodo exclaimed. "I cannot remember much about her, save her voice. She spoke in Elvish, and I heard the sound of soft chimes in a summer breeze. Is she as lovely as her voice?"

Aragorn nodded. "She is as beautiful as the brightest star in the night."

"Did she give you that jewel as a gift?" the hobbit questioned, admiring the cool silver of the Evenstar pendant. "It is very beautiful. She must love you dearly. I think she will make a fine Queen." 

Aragorn blinked, disbelieving his ears. 

"A fine _what_?"

"Queen. When the Ring is destroyed and you become King of Gondor and take her as your wife," Frodo explained. "In the future. All that will come to pass, won't it, Strider?"

The Man exhaled and closed his eyes, searching deep inside himself for an answer. 

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All the fate of the world rests upon your frail shoulders, little one. 

"Yes," Aragorn finally said. "It will."

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Please review!


	2. The Lady of the Woods

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Comments/Thank You's: 

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Alivyan: My goodness, the first review I read tells me I'm a mini-Tolkien! Thank you so much! Hope you'll like this chapter (I've gone a bit further from the movie, since the Lothlorien stays weren't in much detail).

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AM: Thank you very much for the compliment. I did spend quite some time trying to develop the different relationships between characters, and it's nice to know that somebody recognizes it. ;-)

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Lady Laswen: I'm glad you enjoy my story (so far, hehe). Yes, I know the beginning isslow, but don't worry, I've got a _lot _in store for you!

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Chapter Two

The Lady of the Woods

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The Fellowship arrived in Lothlorien safely and rapidly. Although Aragorn had not expected having to plead for their lives with an arrow inches away from his temple, he was glad in the long run they had met up with the Lothlorien Guard. Otherwise, the Fellowship would've had to travel another week to reach the heart of the forest the long way. Under the guidance of Haldir, they took many unknown shortcuts and the journey took under five hours.

Upon reaching it, the beauty of the Golden Wood, as always, left Aragorn breathless. The dark winding trees had thick trunks and lush foliage, creating a secretive romantic atmosphere. The glittering glass of the stairs, the view of the endless night sky, the soft sweet-smelling moss under his bare feet, all these things Aragorn admired and examined curiously. It had been many a winter since he'd last walked in Lothlorien, and the feeling of return was very welcoming indeed.

Aragorn spent his days mostly alone. His _flet_ was comfortably breezy and spacious, and he spent many hours gazing outside, sometimes deep in thought, sometimes just idly watching the shadows descend over the trees in the evening. He often passed the time by reading in a remote section of the forest. When he became restless, he joined Haldir and Legolas in combat training or hunting.

On the third night of the Fellowship's stay, when darkness was well settled and an enveloping silence hung in the air, Aragorn was awake, pouring over a map of Middle-Earth by candlelight. He was having a difficult time deciding whether to take the road to Mordor from the North or West. 

The North was by far a more challenging journey - they had to face the treacherous rocks of Emyn Muil and plow through the Dead Marshes. Then there were the Ash Mountains, of which Aragorn had no farthing as to how to get past. Entering Mordor from the West, though less physically demanding, would mean going through the lands of Rohan and eventually passing Gondor. Both cities were directly between Mordor and Isengard and would be likely targets for attack. Aragorn also did not want to attract any attention from city folk, for tongues slipped like ice during these dark times. He would have to ask for Frodo's opinion on the matter.

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Tomorrow, perhaps, the Man thought as he gave a wide yawn. He was feeling very weary at the moment, and the prospect of lying down on a cool pillow was starting to become very tempting. 

After snuffing the candle, he shed his weaponry and lay down on the bed in his loose tunic and leggings. It felt wonderful to be sleeping upon a firm mattress. He last thought was the absurdity of all the hobbits choosing to sleep on the mossy ground instead, before falling into a light slumber. 

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There she was. 

She had her back turned, she had not seen him yet. Upon her brow was a circlet of silver stars. Her raven hair, the soft black silk he loved so to touch, flowed to her waist. She was graced in an emerald-colored gown and wrapped around her slender shoulders was a glittering silver mantle. Even from the back she looked timeless. A jewel in the night.

"Arwen..." he whispered.

She turned around slowly, her fathomless eyes finally resting on him. Her face, lit by the waning candlelight, showed surprise and her lips were slightly parted, like opening petals of pale pink roses. 

She smiled gently, and he felt his heart burst with joy. 

He took a step toward her. They were close now, close as only lovers should be. He could smell the honey scent of her perfume. He dipped his head and leaned in, eyes closed. Her lips met his. 

For a moment, he was in heaven, locked to her in a passionate kiss. He gently touched her cheek and drew her closer. Her skin was so soft under his fingers. 

"Do not leave me…" she whispered into his ear after the kiss ended.

"If I do, will you forsake me for your people?" he asked of her, pulling her into a gentle embrace. 

"Never," she said defiantly. "I am bound to you forever."

"Forever is a long time, love," he murmured into her hair.

"You must promise me, Estel. You must promise to come back."

"Of course I will, beloved."

"Promise me. Say it, Estel," 

"I promise, my beloved Evenstar. I will return to you."

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But will you keep your promise to her?

Aragorn bolted from bed, eyes wide open. His breath came heavily, his mind was a wild blur. His dream, yes, he had been dreaming when the voice interrupted him...

  
"Who spoke?" he demanded of the silence, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his dagger. He was answered by the gentle swishing of leaves caught in a breeze. 

A surreal feeling passed over his mind. As of in a trance, the Man got to his feet. His fingers loosened around the blade and he descended his _flet_. He made his way through warily past four snoring bodies, following his instinct for directions. Lothlorien was eerie at this hour, illuminated by streams of moonlight flooding through the foliage above. Aragorn finally came to a grassy opening. On the far side was a stone façade with silver water flowing down into a small gorge. In the middle stood a pedestal, bearing a shallow bowl. 

Cautiously, Aragorn neared the pedestal. He saw that the bowl was not empty as he had suspected, but filled with clear liquid. Peering closer, he gazed into his reflection. 

A man of sea-grey eyes and dark hair stared back at him. His age was incalculable - he could have passed as a man of 25 or 50 years. His weathered face showed curiosity and a tint of uncertainty. Around his neck hung a jewel, glimmering and catching the moonlight on its many facades. 

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So you have come upon my Mirror, Elfstone. The question is, will you look into it?

Slowly, Aragorn looked up. A slender female Elf stood before him, resonating an ethereal Elvish glow. Her rippling golden hair and flawless skin made her appear young, yet her eyes revealed her to be a High Elf, one who rivaled Lord Elrond in power and wisdom. Her eyes were fixed upon him, her timeless face as still as stone. Around her forefinger was a dazzling white jewel, as innocent as the rising sun yet colder than winter night. 

"Lady Galadriel," Aragorn inclined his head. "You have summoned me here and I have obeyed your will. What will you have me do?"

"I would have you see into your future, for there is many a path for you to take, Aragorn," she said. Her voice, chilling and low, sent shivers down Aragorn's back. 

"I cannot see but one," Aragorn replied humbly.

"And what may that be?" she asked of him. 

"To fulfill my duty and see that the fate of the Ring does not fall into ill hands," he said truthfully. 

A flicker passed over Galadriel's steely eyes. 

"There is much for you to learn, then."

She gestured for him to look into the mirror. 

Aragorn bent his head again and to his amazement, he did not see his reflection in the water anymore. Instead, he saw himself bearing a golden jeweled crown, Arwen looking resplendent in a white gown and gazing adoringly up at him. The image faded into that of a young woman of hay-colored hair and wide blue eyes. She was standing alone outside under a dark starless sky. Behind her, a familiar figure slowly approached the girl and laid a hand on her slender shoulder. Aragorn saw her turn to face the figure before the scene disappeared. 

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Who is she? he wondered. _How can she possibly become involved in my life?_

The images kept coming, quicker now, in flashes. Aragorn saw the Shire, his beloved Shire, blackened and burnt. He saw Frodo tied and gagged, tears streaming from his pleading eyes. He saw Arwen on a ship in the horizon, gazing across the Sea one last time in farewell to the land she was leaving behind. He saw a great winding forest and an enormous stone fortress. He saw an army of Uruk-Hai, led by a ferocious-looking leader. 

The Evenstar shattering...a narrow mountain path...a small boy running to him...the young woman again, laughing joyously as she dipped her head back...a white figure in the distance upon a great silver steed...a marble-smooth black orb...Minas Tirith crumbled to the ground...

Aragorn shuddered and drew back as the next series of images flashed by. They were all of his death. 

Stabbed in the breast, blood seeping from his clothes...his corpse lost in the wilderness, abandoned...lying peacefully, Arwen weeping over him...three arrows pierced through his heart...his body floating upon the Great River, being swept away with the current...

The death reflections faded away. The Mirror became still and black. A few moments passed, then the inky water changed again to form another image. Aragorn saw himself from the back, leaning over something. The view switched to the front, yet only to his face. His wide eyes were intent as they concentrated on this unknown obsession, his brow was furrowed in determination. He looked as if under a spell, focusing hard either to resist or encourage it. 

The last image was of a lone hooded figure walking slowly in the rain. Then the Mirror cleared itself and the surface became silvery water again. 

Breathing deeply, Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of all that he'd seen.

What did it all mean? What could he, one man, do to cause all those scenes? Who was the beautiful young woman? What was he focusing on so hardly? Was the fate of Arwen to leave him? Who was the person in the rain? 

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Only you can choose. Only you can decide your own fate.

Aragorn looked up into Galadriel's endless eyes, but he found no answer, for she was remote and distant. He closed his eyes again and thought hard. 

"Why did you have me come here?" he finally asked. "I have learnt nothing."

"I did not intend for you to know what it is you have seen," Galadriel said. "But just to see it with your very eyes, as a warning."

She turned around and began to leave. Her footsteps were silent and her body lithe, as were all of Elves.

"A warning of what?" Aragorn called out, determined to get an answer from her.

Galadriel stopped in her tracks. Silence settled in the night. 

Ever so slowly, she turned around and gazed placidly upon Aragorn's confused face. Her lips stretched into a mirthless smile before she spoke. 

"A warning for where your heart lies. Beware of temptation, son of Arathorn, for you are on the edge of a path that would lead you astray." 

She was gone.

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The Fellowship sojourned in Lothlorien for two more nights. On the morning of the sixth day, Aragorn awoke to a light knocking. 

"Who is it?" he groaned, blinking hard in the golden sunshine that was burning his eyes. 

"Legolas. May I enter?" came the light Elven voice. 

"Come in," Aragorn murmured drowsily, burying his face into his pillow. 

Legolas hopped up lightly into the _flet_. He was garbed in his usual tunic, leggings and boots. His bow and quiver were strapped into his back, ivory daggers sheathed and ready at his sides. His fine golden hair shone brightly in the sun, his eyes were merry and sparkling. 

"It's too early in the morning to look so joyous," Aragorn groaned. 

"Come on, you," Legolas laughed lightly. "It is a rare sight to see you wake after sunrise, is there something wrong with you today? Some illness I have never heard of?"

"I am just too attached to my bed to leave it," Aragorn protested playfully. The truth was, he had not gotten more than three hours of sleep, for his nights had been haunted by fear and doubt ever since he looked into the Mirror of Galadriel. But Legolas needn't know that, and Aragorn was not going to tell him anytime soon. 

"We still have a long journey," Legolas said pensively. "I hope the Halflings have rested well, for we won't be sleeping under a roof for another fortnight."

"I'm afraid they'll be more disappointed in the lack of fresh food," Aragorn grinned as he got out of bed and began to dress.

"These hobbits are such simple yet mysterious people. They do not grieve, they do not worry about such things of our world. They live in perfect peace, and I cannot understand how," Legolas mused. "How did you come to know them, Aragorn?"

"I met Bilbo in Rivendell, when he was quite younger," Aragorn said, tying on his leather gauntlets. "He talked of Frodo often, but I had never met the lad until the Prancing Pony. I sometimes saw the Ring, too. Of course, then it was merely a beautiful trinket. Never would I have imagined it to be the One Ring of power."

"Alas, fate is cruel," Legolas said. Aragorn, not used to his Elven friend use such a grievous tone, glanced over at Legolas. He was gazing out the window, a wistful expression on his face. 

"Is it fate, or is it our own weakness that betrays us?" Aragorn asked, but Legolas was lost in thought and did not answer him. When Aragorn was ready, he and Legolas descended the _flet _and headed toward the riverbank, where the rest of the Fellowship awaited them.

With each step Aragorn took, the Evenstar pendant's cool silver shifted on his chest. His mind reeled back to the previous evening, when he had received a visit from the Lady of the Woods...

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Galadriel stood before Aragorn, her beautiful and terrible eyes dark with grief. She placed her hand on the jewel around Aragorn's neck.   
  
"I have nothing greater to give, than the gift you already bear," she said softly. Aragorn lowered his eyes as he bit back the waves of anguish that flooded him. 

"_Am meleth dîn. I ant e-guil Arwen Undómiel…pelitha_," Galadriel said, her voice deepened with sorrow.

Her words pierced him deeper than any dagger could, yet he did not show it on his face.  
  
"_Aníron i e broniatha ar periatham amar hen. Aníron e ciratha a Valannor_," he said quietly.

"That choice is yet before her. You have your own choice to make, Aragorn…to rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil, or to fall into darkness with all that is left of your kin."

  
Aragorn did not reply, though Galadriel's stern gaze was upon him. Instead, he watched the fragile silver lines of a spiderweb sway in the breeze. He could not bring himself to think. He had become numb again. Indifferent to the world.  
  
"_Namárië. Nadath nâ i moe cerich_," Galadriel broke the silence, her voice carrying a hint of finality. "_Dan…ú-'eveditham, Elessar."_

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More Notes: Yes, I left out the English translations of Galadriel's dialogue. It just seems to me that translating would ruin the beauty of Elvish speech. If you really do want the translations, leave a comment and I'll put them in as footnotes. 

And yes...the action _will _start...sometime...I think...haha okay enough stalling. But please bear with me here. I'm not a Michael Crichton or Dan Brown writer - the stories aren't exactly attention grabbing at first glance. But fret not, there is much much excitement to come! Review please!


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